Junior
by Prieda Solo
Summary: Most of books 4 and 5 concern events that seem to happen outside Harry's radar. This is the story of the Crouches, concerning the thoughts and feelings of Barty Jr and Barty Sr from young Barty's trial to his death. FINALLY COMPLETE!
1. The Imperio defence

Disclaimer: All characters are the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. Also several of my ideas are garnered from the essays of Red Hen Publications. Her essays are amazing, they really are. Type Red Hen Publications Potterverse into google and you'll see what I mean. 

Note: This is a longer fic (for me) and should turn out about six chapters long. I do not know if it is AU or not. Every time it hits canon, it is correct, but most of the other actions have very little canon support (especially the first chapter). I do not like OC's so I have tried to create none at all apart from the odd faceless extra. Political views are not mine, but the views of the respective characters. Rated K+ for no particular reason.

Please review. This webpage is the only place I can get feedback on my work, and this piece especially is something I'd appreciate feedback about.

Chapter one-The Imperio Defence

Bartemius Crouch passed a hand over his forehead and sighed. Why did he always feel so tired nowadays? It was the trials, he knew, and the constant worry, fear and anger.

Far too much anger. Anger against those who would attempt to destroy everything the wizarding world was, everything the Ministry stood for. The Death Eaters, they were part of it. Part of the empty rottenness of Dark Arts lead by Lord…Voldemort. It took an effort of will just to think the name. How did one man become so powerful?

And how was one man supposed to cope with all the work he had to do? Crouch felt he was working blind, in the dark, as the dreaded hooded figures destroyed one life after another. The ruling to use Unforgivable Curses on Death Eaters had helped, although the controversial step had been frowned on by some.

Frowned on! Crouch took a deep gulp of coffee from the mug resting at the side of his overcrowded desk. It was all right for wizards who lived in relative safety to look down on him for torturing the torturers but they were the last to complain when raids were averted with the information.

Mr Crouch had long ago placed his priorities neatly in order. And national defence lay far above civil liberties. Especially the liberties of the Death Eaters.

He stared at the papers piled high on his desk in neatly stacked columns that threatened to topple if they got much higher. This job was eating into his life. His family, his home, when was the last time he'd seen young Barty?

Well the boy could cope couldn't he? His high examination marks were proof of that. Mr Crouch was proud of his son, but at the moment there just didn't seem to be any time for him, not with all the work. Family also had a clear place in Mr Crouch's list of priorities.

But the wizarding world was in danger! Young Barty was sure to understand. After all, many boys would be proud to have a father who worked so hard to ensure the safety of others.

One of the secretaries appeared, hovering nervously in the doorway 'Uh, Mr Crouch?'

'Yes,' he looked up irritably, 'What is it?'

'There's been a slight problem Sir. One of the prisoners. Number 10642. His Trial is due tomorrow and he still refuses to confess.' The young man balanced a file on top of the paperwork already mounted on the desk. 'Auror Moody was going to look into it but he was detained at Langdon Herring.'

Mr Crouch frowned at the top of the file. He really did not need any more work. 'What about Lewison? Can't he deal with this?'

The secretary looked awkward, 'Umm, Lewison didn't return to the Ministry after the Birmingham Raid, Sir. They're looking into it, but there's currently no information as to his whereabouts.'

A muscle twitched in Mr Crouches left temple. Lewison had had a wife and three children. 'Very well.' He said brusquely, grabbing the file, 'I will see to it. And clear that up!' he shouted behind him as one of the columns of paper on his desk, disturbed by his sudden movement, came crashing to the floor.

-----

The cell was dark, save for a row of candles held in ancient brackets along the wall. It was empty, apart from a high backed iron chair which held a young man, bound by magical shackles.

The man looked up as Crouch walked in, his haughty grey eyes uncowed by the predicament he was in. Despite the fact that the man was wandless, Crouch still felt somewhat nervous as he shut the door behind him. Technically he should have an auror in here with him, for safety reasons, but nowadays everyone was busy.

He stared at the man's face. It was deathly pale, and only slightly marred by a dark bruise on the side of his left cheek. His long silver-blond hair was swept back and tied at the nape of his neck with a short piece of black ribbon.

Crouch opened the file, hiding his nervousness behind formalities. 'Prisoner 10642 you are charged with the assault and murder of Edgar Bones, conspiracy to murder, gathering with the intent of causing a disruption of the peace, …'

'I've already told you.' The young man drawled, cutting him off mid-flow. 'I had no idea what I was doing.'

Crouch stiffened. 'These charges are very serious Mr Malfoy, and cannot be easily written off. You have been in custody for over a month now and you still refuse to cooperate?'

The cold grey eyes stared back at him. 'As I have repeatedly stated, I was held under the Imperius Curse by allies of the Dark Lord.' He smirked slightly, 'I am hardly responsible for my actions'

Crouch skimmed quickly through the rest of the file, then tucked it under his arm. He walked slowly over to the chair and then around it, stopping when he was directly behind Malfoy. 'Mr Malfoy, have you ever seen anyone under the Imperius Curse?'

Lucuis stared straight ahead 'I am not quite as intimately familiar with the Dark Arts as you seem to be.'

'Their eyes are clouded Mr Malfoy, and they act as if sleepwalking. Those possessing a strong mind, or have been under the influence for some time often attempt to throw it off. The resulting conflict of interests can lead to odd, unprecedented behaviour of the …victim, with uncontrolled muscle movements or incomprehensible speech.'

'Malfoy remained silent. Crouch rested his hands on the top of the chair. 'Not one of these signs has been observed in you Mr Malfoy. Despite the fact that almost all witnesses are dead, enough remain to ensure that if you do try to use the Imperius Curse as your defence, I would find it very easy to overthrow.'

Unbelievably, Malfoy chuckled at this. Still staring forward he said 'But you don't want to do that Mr Crouch.'

'Are you attempting to intimidate me?'

'Not at all' Lucuis raised an eyebrow, 'I merely feel it is my duty to inform you that if I am convicted there are several facts I may reveal that could be, shall we say, damaging to your reputation. Home truths as it were.'

Crouch was suddenly very glad that Lucuis couldn't see his face. 'I don't know what you mean.'

'When did you last hear from your son Mr Crouch.'

Crouch inhaled sharply and Lucuis grinned in the darkness. Because suddenly the roles were reversed and Crouch was the victim.

'Impossible.' But Crouch could feel the gnawing worry in his mind. It was true, he hadn't seen Barty for weeks and the boy had many school friends who'd been taken to trial recently, but still it was inconceivable that…

'How much would you bet on that impossibility Mr Crouch?'

How dare he, how could he. How dare he even think of accusing Barty? It was such an obviously worthless bluff that it…had to be true? A high pitched battle was raging in Mr Crouches previously organised mind.

Abruptly he removed his hands from the chair. He had to know, he had to find out it the awful, unthinkable were true. And he had to get out, before the venom pouring in his ears poisoned him completely.

'My trial, Mr Crouch?' Malfoy's mocking voice stopped him as he reached the door. He hesitated.

'Your trial will be suspended until further notice.'

He rushed back up to his office and, grabbing a pen, scribbled a note on the front page of Malfoy's file before rushing out of the door. The secretary had been far to busy to tidy up, and behind him loose papers fluttered to the floor.

-----

First chapter written! The next will materialise within the week. Now please, please review. It fact, if you review I promise I will head straight over to your profile and write you a review too. Extra long review for the first person to work out the significance of Lucius' number (it's not that obscure).

Fear my cheesy attempts at courtroom drama. And apologies to those of you who might have been expecting exciting Lucuistorture. But I can't get better without reviews. Even if you don't like it, a line to say 'This is rather bad' is still better than nothing.


	2. Thicker than Water

Disclaimer: All characters are the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. Also several of my ideas are garnered from the essays of Red Hen Publications. Her essays are amazing, they really are. Type Red Hen Publications Potterverse into Google and you'll see what I mean. 

Notes: Second chapter! I hope I didn't leave it too long and loose all my readers. This chapter is dedicated to S-writer and Forbidden light, because they left reviews on the first chapter.

This chapter is a little bitty, so I hope it still flows alright (hint: review). One of my main worries about my writing is that I am never sure whether people follow what I've written or whether it's too confusing. It's also a slightly longer chapter but a couple of people have told me my chapters need to be longer anyway.

Chapter two-Thicker Than Water

It was against protocol, he knew, but he also knew that no one would notice as he strode out of the Ministry and Apparated outside Barty's flat. The boy had moved out of the Crouch's home as soon as he'd left school and Mr Crouch suddenly wondered why he'd not found that suspicious. He'd been to busy to really think about it.

He knocked on the door. No answer. He waited in an agony of indecisiveness. It was his duty, after all, to discover if the Barty was a Death Eater. Not even just his duty as a father, but also his job.

He Apparated into the middle of the flat. 'Bartemius?'

No answer, but that was only to be expected. After all, the boy was probably at work. He glanced around. Everything seemed normal. Clothes neatly folded on a chair, the large desk in the corner piled high with parchment.

Feeling only a slight twinge of guilt, he crept over to the desk and started shifting through the papers. Carefully, methodically, he worked his way through the piles. Lists, notes, letters, he skimmed through them all.

_Mr Crouch it has been brought to our attention…_

_To the current occupier of this residence…_

_Trouble with charms…try Kwikspell!_

Nothing of interest there. Mr Crouch began to relax slightly. It was just possible that Malfoy had been bluffing, hoping to gain a few days reprieve by such a bare faced, obvious lie. He had allowed that slow, drawling voice and the dark atmosphere of the cell to get the better of him.

He opened one of the drawers and pulled out a bundle of letters. Idly, he began to flick through them, smiling whenever he recognised his own handwriting.

Mr Crouch's world had always been well organised, with tasks and priorities lined up in neat little piles. However as he read the second to last letter in his hand he felt it all come crashing to the floor.

_Dearest Barty,_

_I was so pleased you could make it last night. I know you sometimes feel that your contribution isn't worth much, but really Barty, it does mean so much to him, and to me as well. Me, Lucuis, Avery, we may be closer to him, but you Barty, you are young, you are the future._

_Is it possible you could make it down to London next Saturday? Rudolphus is visiting his aunt and I shall be all lonely._

_Yours with love_

_Bellatrix Lestrange.  
_-----

The next week was the hardest of Mr Crouch's life. Outwardly he appeared unchanged, continuing his work with the same unswerving devotion. Working longer hours, writing reports, overseeing trials.

But on the inside he was a writhing, seething mess. His organised world, which he had built around himself so carefully, was gone. It wasn't so much Barty's betrayal that made his life a living hell, but the thought that he had diverted the course of justice because of it. Because of him, Lucuis Malfoy's trial had been a mockery, and a Death Eater (two Death Eaters if you included Barty) would walk free.

He'd even burnt Bellatrix's letter, that single piece of evidence, which, reading between the lines, could have been used to condemn so many people. In protecting his son, and his own reputation, he could be destroying the lives of so many more.

But was it that simple? If his son were revealed and he lost his job, who would take his place? Was there anyone else with his single-minded devotion to duty, anyone else who understood the filing system, who could walk in and take his job at a moments notice? Surely he owed it to the wizarding world to remain at his post until the danger had passed?

The obvious thing to do would be to confront Barty about it, but Mr Crouch shrank back from that option. It was just possible that Mrs Lestrange's letter had not been referring to Lord…well, yes. Him. There might be some other figure who was treated with enough reverence to merit a capital letter before his name, and who employed Malfoy, Avery and Lestrange…

Besides, he had burnt the letter. And it seemed unfair to approach the boy without evidence.

Another morning, another pile of paper. How did it all mount up? At a time of national crisis (the attacks had been increasing all week) why on earth did people still have time to create bloody paperwork. He cradled his head in his hands. It couldn't last much longer. Pretty soon he was going to have to face the boy. And what would he do then? What would he say?

'Mr Crouch Sir?' The secretary appeared. Crouch sighed and raised his head.

'Yes, what is it.' For some reason the young man was looking excited, but nervously so.

'Have you heard Sir?'

A sudden shiver of fear ran down Mr Crouch's spine. Had they somehow found out about Barty? He tried to force his voice to sound natural. 'I've been in my office for the entire morning. I haven't heard anything.'

'He's gone Sir, disappeared!'

Barty? Disappeared? 'Who's disappeared. What on earth are you talking about?'

'Him Sir, Lord…you know who. According to Auror Griffith's report he was last seen in the vicinity of Godric's Hollow, where the Potter's …lived.' His voice faltered as he mentioned the Potter's, rumour was still unclear as to what had happened to them, 'And no one's seen him since. They say he's gone Sir.'

'Thank Merlin.' Crouch whispered. Because now the nightmare was done. Because the Dark Lord had gone and it no longer mattered what Barty had done. It was all over.

-----

'Bartemius please.' She'd been like this since the trial. Sobbing, crying and pleading while he'd looked on, refusing to allow what she saw as the only course of action. 'Barty's only a boy and I won't last much longer. Bartemius…'

The trial. Barty's trial. His son's trial.

'Give him a chance Bartemius, he's only young.'

He still wasn't sure what he'd felt at the trial. Anger, yes, worry, fear and even hate. But there had also been relief. Voldemort's death had not been the end, but only the beginning of the end, sparking off a rash of violent acts, one of which had been the torture and subsequent murder of the Longbottoms.

By Barty. And that Lestrange woman, and a few others. And _Barty_.

His wife was now sobbing in the faded chair in the corner of the living room. She'd been crying since the trial. Since the day when the nightmare of Barty Crouch had finally come to pass. And he'd felt relief when it had.

'He's so young Bartemius. You never gave him a chance, can't you let me give him one now?'

Never gave him a chance! If only she knew what he'd done for the boy!

'Oh Bartemius, give him the chance to live. I'm dying, I could take his place. My life for his.'

'Edith…' He'd tried to reason with her. She'd stared at him fiercely, face red and blotched from crying.

'Bartemius Crouch he is my son!'

He agreed in the end. There seemed to be little else to do. His wife was dying, his son had betrayed him, his job was in tatters. The face he showed to the world was as strong as ever, but inside Mr Crouch's world was slowly being destroyed.

-----

He felt sickened as he carried her down the damp stone steps of the prison. What sort of a man was he, to allow his wife to be chained in Azkaban? Down the steps and into the cells, past bars that contained men he'd condemned. Some screaming, some gibbering, some staring blankly at the walls.

A dementor glided past making a sound like a death rattle and suddenly briefly he heard Malfoy's voice in his head.

_When did you last hear from your son, Mr Crouch?_

He shuddered and the whisper faded. The guard led them to Barty's cell and unlocked the door. Another dementor drifted by and Mr Crouch felt a prickle of fear run down the back of his neck, as he was suddenly dragged back to that afternoon in Barty's flat, skimming through the letters.

_Really Barty, it does mean so much to Him, and to me too._

In his arms his wife whimpered. He wondered what horrors she was thinking of. He looked down at her anxiously. 'Edith are you sure you want to go through with this?'

She nodded, then turned to stare into the cell where Barty lay chained to the floor in a heap. 'Barty, love?

He stirred. Red-rimmed eyes stared at them out of empty sockets. 'Mother?'

Mother. Not father. And despite the fact that he knew it was petty, Mr Crouch felt a slight taste of jealousy as he carried his son out of Azkaban, leaving his wife to her fate.

-----

Back at home Barty looked even more out of place. An ill-looking young man, dressed in grey prison wear, standing among the floral-pattered sofa's and mahogany furniture. He ran a dry tongue over his lips as his father stared at him.

'Father, I…'

'Did you do it?' Mr Crouch's voice was clipped and harsh.

'Father, please…'

'I would like to know.'

'You wouldn't…send me back?'

'I can't.'

There was silence for a while. The boy hesitated then said 'They made me…'

Mr Crouch said nothing.

'I didn't really want…well…if I'd known.' His voice stuttered out. He glanced at his father. Then he said quietly 'Yes. I did. And I'm proud of it.'

Mr Crouch raised his wand. The boy flinched.

Then, almost revelling as the towers of his life shattered around him, something inside him rejoicing at the whole, wretched irony of the situation, Mr Crouch pointed his wand at his son and said 'Imperio.'

-------

Well, that's that one finished. Better than the first chapter? Worse. Remember, every time you read without reviewing God Kills a Puppy :p

My spellchecker hates Potterverse. And I hate my spellchecker (No, I don't want to write lest range I want to write LESTRANGE!). But the chapters from now on will be young-Barty centred which means…no more trying to remember how to spell Bartemius. Woohoo!

Next chapter within the week. It is called Red vs. Green for those of you that want a teaser. And I'll tell you why Lucuis' prison number was 10642 as well.


	3. Red vs Green

Disclaimer: All characters are the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. Also several of my ideas are garnered from the essays of Red Hen Publications. Her essays are amazing, they really are. Type Red Hen Publications Potterverse into Google and you'll see what I mean. Fear my copy/paste disclaimer skills. 

Notes: Third chapter! Once again, sorry if it took a bit long. I was ill last week and got a ton of assignments over the weekend. Anyway, this is now from young Barty's POV so tell me if I've managed the switch alright.

Changes: Right, went on the HP Lexicon recently to discover that, as far as my timeline is concerned, everything happens in the wrong order. So I've had to amalgamate two of the chapters, there are now five chapters, not six. Also it turns out that Barty was rescued from Azkaban a good few months after his trial, so his mum has been crying for a long time :p. As ever, this chapter is for the wonderful people who review this fic, S-Writer and forbidden.light.

Chapter Three-Red vs. Green

For the first few years it was almost soothing, living in a little world of cotton wool, floating clouds and happy thoughts. His mind drifted in the permanent haze.

He remembered very little of it. Occasionally his father would take the curse off, and then the world would be all worry and bitterness and hurt and sharp edges. His father never shouted, just informed him of the current state of the wizarding world and asked questions in his short, clipped voice. Barty never answered. Just started at the floor and waited for the comforting blankness to return.

In the times he could think he tried not to. He didn't want to think about the Dark Lord's death, or Bellatrix's imprisonment in Azkaban. He wondered why his father told him. He wasn't interested in how his father had lost his job, or that there was a new Minister for Magic, or that Lucuis Malfoy had just donated several thousand galleons to the Ministry.

His father watched his face when he told the news, but Barty never gave any sign of having heard. Occasionally he worried about his son, but it the Ministry was still very busy, and there was still far too much work to be done. There was the house-elf, after all. She could attend to Barty's needs.

Deep down Mr Crouch was worried about keeping his son under Imperio for so long. How long would it last? Would he have to shield the boy for the rest of his life? And what about when he died?

But Barty showed no signs of overthrowing the curse. He showed no signs of anything. After a while, his father stopped worrying. He would still take the curse off Barty some evenings, to give him someone to chat to, and to help the boy keep up with the news.

But it was getting harder. Harder for young Barty. After the soft warm comfort of the first few years the constant house arrest was becoming jarring. To wake up from the enveloping mists and hear your father talk about some ministry affair, then to hear, the next time you awoke, that it had happened three days ago. Barty felt as if great chunks were being slowly chopped out of his life.

It hardly mattered now though. His life was worth nothing. Young promise wasted.

Ten years. Ten years of greyness when he suddenly felt the mists clearing. Not totally, but enough to notice that he was sitting in an attic, staring at the floor.

And the words in his head. Lulling, soothing, '_Stay where you are Barty. Eat when the elf brings you food. Sleep if you're tired. But for now stay where you are_.'

_I don't want to_. But his thoughts were lost in the haze._ I don't want to_. Louder, but still hidden, still a whimper.

He could see. Not well, not clearly, but he could see his hands, and the floor, and mouse hole in the side of the attic. He tried to move his hands.

_'Stay still Barty.'_

He felt helpless. He wasn't helpless. He had not joined the Dark Lord to be helpless. He remembered the power, the thrill, the flash of green light and Bella's face lighting up in the glow of his wand. He remembered the nights, sneaking out of his flat to join them all. To feel worth something, to feel wild and untamed and free.

And now he was trapped. Trapped in the house, trapped in his own head. Trapped in the softest, most relaxing prison ever.

Eleven years, twelve years. His father growing older and somehow more tired. Staring at the floor, staring at the mouse hole in the attic. Staring at his hand.

And moving.

The first time it happened he was so shocked he lost concentration and floated back into the foggy depths of the curse for a whole week. But after that it was easier. He moved his hand, his whole arm, never letting Winky see. Once, he refused to eat his food, directly contravening the orders in his head, he hid it behind his mattress and fed it to the rat that ran in on Sunday.

Such power! He could feel Bellatrix mocking him. That Barty Crouch, who had once tortured men to death, achieved such a sense of power by feeding rats.

But Bellatrix didn't matter to him any more. Neither did the news his father brought him, about new Muggle-protection acts, and raids on the Malfoys basement, and another of Lucuis's donations. All that mattered was his power. And slowly, painfully, he was dragging it back.

Time passed, but now it had more meaning. Barty could count the days, and even the months as they drifted by. It was May, and his father was talking about a Quidditch match, something big was planned.

And Barty saw a chance for freedom.

He spoke to the house-elf first. Breaking her down as far as he could with the mist still lurking in the back of his mind. Begging, pleading, demanding. The house-elf spoke to his father, and Barty watched his plan unfold. The Quidditch hardly mattered, what counted was the freedom. And Barty longed for freedom.

June, and the rat came again. The mists were almost clear, and Barty fed it, and even talked to it. He told it about his plan, about the Quidditch game. About the World Cup. He was going to break free.

Strength. Strength was what mattered. Now he was strong. On the day of the match he was magically bound to the house elf and kept beneath an invisibility cloak. The Imperio curse his father put on him barely had any effect, but Barty was careful to go through the motions of succumbing to the mists, and his father was too overworked to notice.

Stepping outside, his first breath of freedom for almost fifteen years. He wanted to break away, to run, the shout, to stare up at the sky and scream until his lungs caught fire. But he couldn't, not now, not yet.

He'd learnt a lot about the fate of his fellow Death Eaters from his fathers occasional updates on the news, but it still surprised him to see Lucuis Malfoy, with all dignity, walk into the Quidditch box nearby. Cautiously (Winky wasn't looking, her face hidden in her hands as she fought her terror of heights) he peered at him. Lucuis had a family, and seemed to be well respected by the Minister for Magic. Barty felt disgust well up in him. So much for undying loyalty. He had been trapped and hidden in an attic, Bellatrix had been suffering in Azkaban while Lucuis Malfoy, the Dark Lord's fair-weather friend, had been living a life of luxury.

One day the Dark lord would realise who his true allies were. And they were not the likes of Lucuis Malfoy.

He settled back down in his seat, shooting a quick glance at Winky to check she still had her face hidden. How long would the game last? Two hours, make it five hours at most, and then he would be free.

It was then that it happened. One of those marvellous, unexpected coincidences that happen only once in a lifetime. The sort of lucky flair that could change a good plan into a diabolically excellent one. A boy sat down in the seat next to him, with a wand sticking out of his back pocket.

Barty stared at it. Around him, people chattered excitedly, and out on the pitch the adverts cleared. He didn't notice. All he saw was a wand, in front of him, power for the taking.

Not yet though. Fifteen-odd years in an attic had taught him to be cautious. To wait for chances. And now he could wait. Wait until the match started.

The Veela's did not affect him in anyway. His senses had dulled too much after years of Imperio. Besides, he had more important things on his mind. His heart leapt into his mouth as the boy with the wand almost jumped off the stadium. He breathed a sigh of relief when the silver-haired mascots left.

And then the game. Despite his earlier resolutions he was entranced. Red and green players flashed before his eyes, red and green, green and red, swirling shapes and colours. He remembered the Quidditch games he'd seen at school, there had been red and green then too, locked in constant rivalry.

The red's had one good player. But the green's were far more powerful.

He stole the wand as Krum pulled out of the Wronski Feint, and the green smashed into the ground. Blood, red blood, and the roar of the crowd. The boy was staring, eyes wide eagerly hands fumbling at the ominoculars he held, and then Barty had a wand.

The green mascots rose up in an angry swarm. Barty put the wand safely in his pocket as the sky above him filled with green.

Several hours it did it again. But this time was because of the victory. Barty smiled because it was his victory; he was one step closer to freedom. The boy still hadn't noticed his wand was missing, and tonight, he would be free. Free, with a wand, with power, and with rumours of the Dark Lord's return.

Malfoy. It was Malfoy who'd ruined his escape. He'd extracted the cost later, turning Malfoy's whelp into a ferret had been one of his sweeter moments of revenge, but at the time it had seemed horribly, inconceivably unfair.

Everything was ready. It was dark, he had a wand, the elf was asleep, Barty Crouch had just been sneaking out of the tent, ready to run when an unearthly screech had split the night.

Malfoy having a bit of fun. Muggle-baiting. Nothing dangerous, or even particularly amusing (no one had died, at any rate). He, a loyal servant of the Dark Lord, struggling to escape a decade of captivity to return to his Lord and Malfoy decids to spoil it all with a night of childish games.

Within minutes the entire campsite was awake. He felt the sharp tendrils of the house-elf's magic curling around him 'Master is not safe Sir, Master must not stay here.' She was dragging him away, back to his father, back to captivity.

'Master is not safe, Sir!' Damn house-elf! He'd never been safer.

He fought her. He fought her every step until at last he broke free. No longer interested in running, only in getting revenge on those who'd spoilt his plans, who had never been truly loyal.

'Morsmordre' They wanted Dark magic? He'd show them.

The sky glowed green, the light reflecting in the wild eyes of Barty Crouch. Eyes which shone with truimph as the false supporters ran.

Then, _'Stupefy'_ and a hundred red flashes of light flew through the night and he fell unconscious beneath the bushes. He didn't notice when, a few minutes later, his father hastily covered him with the invisibility cloak, and was still stunned as he was apparated back to the house. Apart from a brief period of confusion between being stunned and imperio'd he didn't notice a thing until two weeks later when the mists cleared and he found himself lying in the attic, starting at the rat climbing out of the hole in the corner.

-----

Meh. There are many things wrong with this. Ah well, at least it's written. The next chapter is one I've been looking forward to for some time, so should appear soon and hopefully will be better written too.

Oh yes, for those of you who are still reading this…Lucuis's number. There is a very good musical (and book) called Les Miserables where there's a prisoner (Jean Valjean) whose number is 24601. Lucuis's number is that backwards. The police officer in LesMis (Javert) reminds me of Barty Crouch a lot.

Please review. Think of all those poor fanficless children in Antarctica.


	4. Spiders

Disclaimer: All characters and events are the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. 

Notes: I've just read over Red vs. Green and decided I don't like it at all. Ah well. Thanks to all my reviewers, and people who've favourite'd me. It means such a lot. There isn't as much canon dialogue as there could be in this one because I don't have GoF with me and I don't want to make a mistake.

Oh yes, also some people have said they would like to see more of the bits I cut out. The problem is I tend to skip to the bits I want to write about (mostly character thoughts and feelings) and imply most of the rest. Sorry about that. Especially as I've done exactly the same at the beginning of this chapter (heh). I might come in and fill in the gaps at some point but I'm very busy at the moment so I wouldn't count on it any time soon.

Chapter four-Spiders

Barty cursed as Moody's clawed leg slipped, knocking him off balance. Of all the staff at Hogwarts, why had the Dark Lord asked him to impersonate the one who was a cripple? Did he have any idea how hard it was to walk with a leg that was completely out of its owners control? Next to him, Wormtail sniggered.

For a fleeting moment, Barty seriously considered pulling out his wand and Crucio-ing him on the spot. Even thumping him over the head would have been a welcome relief from the smaller man's continual whining superiority. But he still wasn't sure how high Pettigrew ranked in the Dark Lord's esteem and he didn't want to risk offending his master.

It was strange how his opinion of the man had changed. When Wormtail had first materialised in front of him in the attic (he'd first thought he'd been dreaming as the rat had changed into a man before his eyes) he'd seen him as a saviour, someone to help set him free from his father's prison. Now, however, with the auror Moody captured and the Dark Lord's plan well underway, the man was just a nuisance.

He stared up at the castle doors in front of him. 'We're here.' Moody's voice sounded loud and harsh to his ears. Despite the cold weather he was sweating. Inside the castle was Albus Dumbledore, not to mention Snape, McGonagall and many others who'd known Moody to varying degrees. Many of them had known Barty Crouch as well, although that had been long ago. How on earth was he going to manage this?

'Good luck.' Pettigrew smirked, then vanished, scurrying off into the darkness. Once beyond the borders of the castle he would dissapparate back to the Riddle house, to report to his master that all was well.

Now he was on his own. Barty Crouch against the world.

He pushed the doors open, remembering his first time into the castle. Had it really been all that long ago? The familiar smell of ancient stone washed over him as he lurched forward on Moody's leg into the Great Hall.

All heads turned as he walked in. No panic. Moody would never panic. He nodded at Dumbledore's greeting, ignored Snape's frown, and tried to sit himself down as far away from McGonagall as possible.

How long since he'd taken the potion? He was sure it hadn't been two hours. He took a swig anyway, just encase, trying not to gag at the revolting taste of the polyjuice potion. He had a months supply with him, but he'd need to brew some more while he was here. How was he going to get the supplies? Snape was potions master, wasn't he. He wondered if he could get away with stealing some items while pretending to search through Snape's supplies for Dark Magic. After all, Moody's paranoia was legendary. Those damn dustbins had been proof enough of that.

Feeling slightly calmer as the focus of attention shifted away from him, he scanned the hall. Ah yes, there he was, sitting at the Gryffindor table. Scruffy black hair, glasses, next to a Weasley, it had to be Harry Potter.

And the scar. Barty stared hungrily at the scar. So much power just from one small child. But soon, that power would be broken. And then the Dark Lord would rise again. All those who had defied him would be killed, and those that had left him, those who had sworn allegiance and turned aside when he fell, they would face justice soon enough.

He focused his attention on the Slytherin table, feeling a short stab of nostalgia as he did so. How long had it been since he was last here, back before all the wasted years in the mist? He caught sight of the Malfoy boy smirking as he whispered something to his friends. He'd keep an eye on that one, it might give him a chance to repay Lucuis for his little games at the Quiddich world cup.

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'Professor Moody _is that a student_?'

Moody's face remained unchanged, but inside Barty Crouch suppressed a scowl. Damn that woman! He'd been enjoying himself. It had been years since he'd had power like this, power to control, power to hurt, power to kill. The fact that it was the traitor Malfoy's brat who was currently being bounced against the hard stone floor only made that power the sweeter.

Take the boy to Snape, ah yes, he'd been dreading this moment. He'd always feared Snape, with his dark glittering eyes, the rumour was that he was accomplished at Occlumency. You never knew quite where you stood with Snape, the man was half-blood wasn't he? From some poor northern family. Yet the way he acted, that mockingly superior air he always wore. It made Barty feel uncomfortable.

He grabbed Malfoy's arm, dragging him roughly down the corridor to the potions dungeon. Merlin, did Severus really live here? Had he really been living here for the past thirteen years, brooding silently, watching his life disappear into an endless stream of repeated days and wasted moments? Maybe he and Bellatrix were not the only ones that had been caged.

He opened the door and shoved the boy in. The boy whinged sulkily and Barty heard the words 'my father' amidst his grumbles. _Oh yes_, beneath Moody's grim features Barty sniggered, _please, tell your father. It's such a pity he'll never realise it was me_.

'Moody?' And at the sound of the familiar voice Barty momentarily panicked. Severus was older, yes, it showed in the harsh lines etched across his face, but in all other respects he seemed the same, just more so. More austere, more intimidating, as if his time at Hogwarts had somehow condensed his character, breaking down any softer feeling he may once have had.

He cleared his throat. 'Snape.' Surely that was what Moody would call him?

Snape raised an eyebrow. 'You wish to see me about something?'

'Aye.' Did Moody say aye? 'It's about this boy.' He grabbed Malfoy's arm and shoved him forward. Might as well get some enjoyment out of the business. 'He's been breaking school rules and McGonagall said I should bring him to you.' Would Moody call her McGonagall? Should he have said Professor? He felt his face grow hot as Snape's glittering black eyes bored into his.

'Ah.' Snape looked down at the boy. Moody tightened the pressure on his arm.

'Potter started it.' Was this really Malfoy's child? This snivelling whining thing the son of Lucuis Malfoy? 'And Professor Moody turned me into a ferret.'

'I think the wisest course of action at this point would be to remove ten points from Slytherin.' Snape was a good actor, his mouth barely twitched as Malfoy retold the incident.

Points? From what Barty could remember points had lost their meaning somewhere during the third year. Maybe things were different now. At any rate, all he wanted to do was get away from those piercing black eyes as quickly as possible. He nodded curtly. 'Better get back to your lessons lad, and don't go attacking anyone again.'

Malfoy left, and Barty grinned at his retreating back, thinking of what Lucuis's reaction would be when he heard. Before he could beat a hasty retreat however, he was stopped by a voice that seemed to smirk. 'The headmaster mentioned you wished to search my office.'

Barty grunted. Moody grunted, didn't he? 'Can't be too careful now Snape, especially given your record.'

'My record states that I was tried and acquitted.' Snape's eyes were dangerously narrowed. 'I find it intriguing that you still consider my loyalties to be in doubt.'

Intriguing? Did Moody know something he didn't? Or was the man attempting a bluff. Barty settled for merely saying 'Indeed.' before nodding and striding out as well as he could with only one leg. Indeed was a good word, neutral and impassive, with a slight air of menace. He remembered his father had used in many times.

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Three spiders. Moody started sternly at the class while inside, Barty giggled. Three spiders and a class full of apprehensive fourth years. They didn't know what the spiders were for, but he knew. They were Bagman, Longbottom and Potter.

Who would be first? He rather hoped it would be Longbottom. He was looking forward to that one. He was also looking forward to Potter (how long had it been since he'd last performed Avada Kedavra? Since he'd last felt that power flowing through him?) but sheer dramatic tension told him it would be best to leave that one till last.

'Unforgivable curses.' He stared at the faces around him. Who's looking nervous? His eye caught the Longbottom boy, who was looking faintly green. Oh yes, someone knows what's coming.

Imperius was the first reply he received. Maybe it was better to get it over with. His love of the Imperius curse had waned after thirteen years of being caged in an attic, but he still felt a thrill of excitement run through him as he brought out the spider.

'_Engorgio_.' The Weasley doesn't like that. Typical Gryffindors. All full of self-importance and brave ideals but they turn pale when faced with a spider.

'_Imperio!_' And Bagman's spider is tap-dancing. They'd only Imperio'd Bagman a few times, if he remembered correctly, to collect memos from other peoples desks. Mostly the hopeless fool had been only too eager to pass information on, after being fed his daily dose of lies by Rookwood. There had been times, however, when a moving puppet in the Ministry was necessary.

They were laughing. Let them laugh. Then shoot it down. Because they're not little Gryffindor's playing at being heroes anymore. They're stuck in a real world in a real war and these are the tools the enemy uses. It's no laugh to be Imperio'd into jumping off a cliff, or stealing mail from the ministry, or being locked in an attic.

They're all worried now, as he puts Bagman's spider back into the jar. Bagman was the lucky one. He's still alive and unharmed. The next two spiders face a far worse fate.

'Anyone know any others?' Who's next, Potter or Longbottom?

It's Longbottom. Barty has to fight hard to contain his smile as he pulls this spider out. Enlarge it, now concentrate. Concentrate on the hate, and the spite, and the love of power. It takes real feeling to cast the Cruciatus curse, Barty wonders if any of the children will realise that. He's certainly not going to tell them.

'Crucio.' And the spider is writhing beneath his curse. Suddenly he's remembering Longbottom, lying on the floor, screaming in torment, and Bella laughing, and Longbottom's wife and Bella's face lit up in the glow of the curse.

Then he's staring at Neville and seeing his father, the spider is helpless, the boy has turned pale. 'Crucio.' Now all he can see is Longbottom, father and son. The spider twitching in agony. Bellatrix laughing.

_'Stop it!'_

It takes a moment or so for Granger's words to fully register. He blinks, trying to rid himself of the multitude of images whirling through his brain. Besides, it's worked. The Longbottom boy looks terrified, it'll be easy to take him aside for a few moments and plant the book on him. The book that will help Potter through the second task. He'd originally planned to give it to Weasley, but there's no reason why Weasley would ever accept a Herbiology book from a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

Defence Against the Dark Arts. Something inside him sniggers whenever he remembers that.

Time to move on. He shrinks Longbottom's spider. It'll live. It twitches slightly as he lowers it into the jar and brings out the last spider. Potter's spider.

He's been looking forward to this ever since Dumbledore told him to teach the Unforgivable Curses. He starts directly at the boy as he speaks the curse. The curse that rolls off his tongue far too easily.

'Avada Kedavra!'

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The class leaves. He waits five minutes before walking out into the corridor.

Sure enough, there he is. Longbottom's son. Staring at the wall and shaking slightly. Granger looks like she's about to comfort him.

He places his hand on the boy's shoulder feeling a thrill of satisfaction when he jumped in terror. He knows that fear is for him. 'Come with me lad.'

Granger's gives Longbottom a weak smile, and looks up at Moody with a slightly softer expression. He knows what she's thinking, that this is good old Moony showing his softer side. Helping a terrified young boy, because he maybe an old paranoid auror, but he's still human. He wonders how she'd react if she knew the truth; that instead this is a Death Eater drawing aside the son of a couple he tortured to insanity, in order to use him as bait for a murder.

He leads him into his office, and the boy stares around, wide eyed, at the many broken Dark Detectors littered around. Barty wonders how long it will be before someone questions the fact that every single one of them has been destroyed beyond use. He has excuses, of course (cheating students, Slytherins everywhere, they'd go off all the time) but it is still highly questionable why Professor Moody should choose to fill his office with what is essentially useless junk.

Except the foe glass. The foe glass is on all the time. Which is why he would never let McGonagall down here. Or Snape. He still isn't sure about Snape. The man had been a Death Eater hadn't he?

'Sit down lad.' The boy jumped again at the sound of his voice, then drew out a chair looking nervous. Barty would have dearly loved to Crucio him, and watch him twitch like the spider, but he couldn't. Not now, not yet, because now he was the spider and this boy was just one of many twisted threads, all woven together to catch the fly. The fly that was Potter.

'Can't have been an easy lesson for you.' He looked down at the child in front of him, who seemed to be curling into himself on the chair, as if trying to make himself as small as possible.

'There's not many who'd be as brave as that.' Barty continued. 'Back then, you behaved like a true Gryffindor.'

He inwardly smirked as the boy looked up, smiling slightly. It had been one of Bella's greatest insults;_ How like a Gryffindor. How noble, self-sacrificing, pointless and stupid of you._ He remembered her face, twisting into an aristocratic sneer_, How like a Gryffindor._

He coughed gruffly, putting another twist in the web. 'Professor Sprout says you've quite a talent for Herbiology.'

The boy was beaming now. 'Well, I enjoy it quite a lot. I'm not sure my aunt would like me to continue with it though.'

'I think you should stick with what you're good at. I'm sure your parents would be proud of you.' Very proud, but unfortunately they're insane and it's my fault. Barty fought the urge to giggle. That would never do. Better get this over with quickly.

'I wonder if you'd be interested in this.' He pulled the book from under his desk. 'Picked it up in a sale at Diagon Alley, it's no good to me but if you're interested in it.'

He'd better be. The damn book had caused enough problems already. It had taken him ages to find a book with a useful (and fairly obvious) reference to Gillyweed in, with bubble-head charms being relatively easy to perform. At one point he'd been severely tempted to write one himself (with a large box near the Gillyweed article saying 'suitable for Triwizard tournament competitors) but had decided against it.

The boy leafed through the book, looking excited. 'Thanks Professor Moody. Are you sure you don't mind giving it to me?'

He waved a hand, trying to look dismissive while inside him every nerve was on edge encase the boy suddenly decided adamantly that he couldn't accept the gift. 'No, no. You keep it. Better run along now. You don't want to be late for your next class.'

The boy left. Barty waited a few minutes before allowing himself to break down in a fit of giggles. Had it always been this _easy_? So far his biggest worry had been Snape, and he was one of the Dark Lord's supporters. Probably. Possibly.

Well, the trap was laid, the web was ready. He had a year now to prepare the web, dragging Potter closer and closer to the centre. And then the Dark Lord would return and Barty Crouch, the loyal servant, would be rewarded beyond his wildest dreams.

That was worth impersonating a cripple. It was even worth the endless wasted years in the attic. Because he was free now, and he was ready to fight.

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That's the next chapter done! There should be one left to go, but I've just realised there's an awful lot of stuff still to get through, so it might turn into two.

Meh, the tenses in the last section are a bit funny. And I've left out far too much canon dialogue. And the style goes a bit wierd in the middle. But I've enjoyed writing this one,and hopefully you'll look beyond the mistakes.

_'Imperio!'_ Leave a review…leave a review…


	5. The Tasks of Barty Crouch

Disclaimer: All characters and events are the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. 

Notes: Oh, dear. I've been dreading this chapter. So much canon to go wrong! This is sort of the last chapter except there will be a very short epilogue coming soon. Thanks to all of you who've made it this far, I hope you enjoy reading these as much as I enjoy writing them.

The structure of this one is slightly different. It's broken down into lots of little bits mainly to prevent as many canon mistakes and timing errors as possible and it makes it easier for me to write. I have also missed a helluva lot of dialogue (and probably a couple of minor plot points too), but you've all read GoF right? So you should know what's happening :)

The Tasks of Barty Crouch

_Task number one: Put the name in the Goblet of Fire._

Slowly, silently, he crept down to the Great Hall. A faint light was shining from the moon, far above in the enchanted ceiling, but other than that it was pitch black. Nobody here, not even hidden. The damn eye might give him a headache occasionally but it was proving very useful. It could even see through invisibility cloaks. Invisibility was another benefit, Moody had a cloak, which would probably turn out useful later, when he needed to steal polyjuice ingredients from the dungeons

He approached the goblet standing on the dais. He'd have to be quick, there might be a few disgruntled sixteen year-olds wanting to have a go at sneaking their names past the Age Line while everyone else was asleep. He raised his wand, the spell was difficult and although he'd practised the incantations, he'd not had a chance to try it out properly before.

There had been a slight disagreement about this. The Dark Lord had wanted to enchant the cup so that Potter's name would be chosen for Hogwarts, which would mean fewer competing champions. Barty had explained many times that this was not only impossible, but also contained a much greater possibility of error. It would take far more effort as well, and was a longer spell to perform.

The first stage of the enchantment was done. He took the small scrap of paper from a pocket in his robes, checked to make sure it had the boys name on it (he stifled a sudden giggle at the thought of accidentally entering a note about an order for sneakoscopes into the Triwizard Tournament) and dropped it in. Then he pulled out his wand again.

It seemed far to easy. In a way, he was almost disappointed. This was the hardest bit of magic he'd have to do, and it seemed wrong that it should be accomplished so smoothly. He slipped out of the hall and made his way back to his office. Now all he had to do was lead the boy through the tasks. The boy who was the Dark Lord's second greatest enemy, who had fought off the basilisk, acromantula, and a horde of dementors. How difficult could it be?

_Task number two: Not-so subtle hints_

Sometimes he felt less like a spider constructing a web and more like a man trying to build a gigantic three-dimensional puzzle with pieces that were constantly moving. Trying to coordinate Hagrid, Potter, Charley Weasley, while at the same time attempting keep Igor Karkaroff from seeing the dragons was no mean feat. The boy had to find out about the first task somehow, it just seemed to be taking an awful lot of effort to make it look natural.

He'd almost passed out when he'd seen Harry's fellow champions. Krum, an internationally acclaimed Quidditch champion. Delacour, one of Maxine's most intelligent students, and Diggory. Walking-god Diggory. Harry had looked very small and scrawny next to them and even as Barty had played the completely-paranoid-old-Moody card in front of Dumbledore and the Minister he'd been worrying. Worried that the boy wouldn't live up to their hopes, that he'd fail.

He'd never been worried that the boy wouldn't be excepted. Maxine kicked up a fuss of course, and Karkaroff was livid, but essentially there was nothing they could do. Their hands were tied. People might scoff at the old magic nowadays, but there was an awfully large amount of power in magical contracts, they were not things to be trifled with.

And Snape. Snape had been…wary. Watchful. He'd shot a few suspicious glances around, but Barty was relieved to notice that not too many of them had been at him. Karkaroff had received the most, unsurprising really given his past. Inside his head Barty sneered. They were weak and foolish, both of them, and when the Dark Lord returned they would pay.

But until then there were plans to be made. And even though he knew of the dragons, even though he had a record of perfect Quidditch behind him, the boy seemed to be remarkably dense. Despite the fact that the dragon flew, that the egg was golden, that he owned the best and most expensive broom ever, he didn't seem to be able to make the logical connections.

As the task grew closer, Barty felt his nerves begin to fray. How hard was it? Delacour and Krum would be prepared for this, and he doubted he could get away with sabotaging their efforts, not in front of Dumbledore's watchful eye. He stared at the back of Harry's head during mealtimes, trying to force the message into his mind, willing him to have the necessary brainwave. Use the broom, use the broom.

He would later remember it as one of the only times he ever almost lost control. The one time in the whole wretched year when he swayed, and almost Avada-Kedavra'd the boy on the spot. He'd taken to following Harry around the castle during his free lessons, in the hope that he could have a few minutes alone with the him and drop some not-so-subtle hints, and it was at one of those times that it happened.

He didn't see it all. The first he was aware of was a crash and a cry and then Diggory (perfect, strong, pretty-boy Diggory) was trying to shove about twenty books into a broken bag and suddenly Potter was behind him muttering 'Dragons. The first task's dragons.'

Barty gaped. Were all Gryffindors this _stupid?_ Didn't he realise, didn't he know, that the fewer champions were prepared the more chance he had of winning?

But now Harry was alone. Before he could wonder off somewhere, Barty stepped out. He muttered something about honour and nobility but inside he was seething. Would this boy ever learn?

And how perceptive was he? He gave the advice as tactfully as possible, then watched Harry's retreating back a little worriedly. Would he be suspicious that Professor Moody had just happened to be following him? Would he ever wonder why Professor Moody was so interested in ensuring his success, because Barty hadn't just given a few casual hints, he'd practically whacked the boy over the head with the solution.

A few minutes before the start of the first task he sneaked up to the Gryffindor boy's dormitory and opened the window. He also leant the broom against the windowsill. No use leaving anything to chance.

_Task three: Honourable people_

Why did people put so much emphasis on honour? What was it that gave it so much value? And why did it drive people to do the stupidest things? Barty knew for certain that if someone had just given him the secret to the second task, he'd been keeping quiet about it. He wouldn't go shooting him mouth off, especially to a fellow competing champion.

But that was what Diggory had just done. He was Diggory's teacher (he'd never before realise just how much power that position held) and it had been easy enough to take the boy aside and then (Barty sighed at the memory) once again with the anvil-sized hints. Had he been that slow when he was their age? He preferred to think that the students were getting stupider.

Well, Potter knew now. He'd be asking all his friends for help, and if Longbottom had even glanced through the book he should've noticed the reference to Gillyweed. From what he'd gleaned from Wormtail, Potter held no qualms about filching from Snape's private stores, and apparently the Werewolf had taught them all about Grindylows in their third year, so there would be no trouble on that account (although Wormtail's memories of that particular year had seemed somewhat confused.)

Snape's stores. That reminded him. The Polyjuice was running low, and there were some ingredients that just couldn't be found in Hogsmeade. He'd should go now really, it would be safe enough at night, especially for a Professor…

Looking back, he couldn't help but grin at the irony of the situation, even though its deeper repercussions were far from humorous. Three of the greatest shocks of his entire life, all in one night, and just at a point in the plans when he'd been assuming things were going well.

The first had been as he'd been lifting a vial of lacewing flies off the top shelf. A piercing shriek had split the air, making him drop the vial with a crash. His nervousness seemed funny, looking back, but it had been Snape's private stores and his first thought had been that it was some form of security measure. He'd almost pissed himself. He could justify sneaking around in Snape's belongings to Dumbledore, but not to Snape. Not at this time of night.

He'd been halfway out the door before he'd realised that the sound was coming from somewhere else in the castle. And then it had registered in his terrified brain that it sounded very much like mermish singing. He'd followed the sound warily (it hadn't been coming from too far away) and come across his second shock of the evening.

Filch standing on the stairs, holding one of the precious eggs and glowering at Snape. Further up the stairs (and here Barty's heart almost gave out) was Harry Potter, stuck in a hidden stair, shrouded by an invisibility cloak and looking even worse than Barty felt.

Snape turned and saw him, and he desperately attempted to act with dignity even though all his senses were screaming at him and every nerve felt on edge. He saw the parchment lying on the staircase moments after Snape did and Harry's desperate, flailing hand signals were enough to inform him that it really belonged to Harry.

'Accio parchment!'

Snape was glaring at him now. He glanced down at the paper in his hands and received the third, and worst, shock of the day.

It was a map. And right where he was standing was a little dot labelled 'Barty Crouch.'

Spots that don't come off. He shouldn't have said that, but he was angry, upset and far to tired to care. Snape was scaring him, and the damn map even more so. He hadn't even finished collecting the ingredients, and when Snape got back to his stores he'd see the broken lacewings and - sweet Merlin he hadn't even had time to hide the empty spaces left by the bottles he'd taken. All the ingredients for Polyjuice potion stolen. How long would it take Snape to work that little lot out?

Hopefully he'd blame Potter. But Potter wasn't the one acting out of character, Potter wasn't the one drinking continuously from a hip-flask. Would Snape tell Dumbledore if he suspected? How much would he tell Dumbledore?

Barty felt himself begin to sweat. He wondered about dropping a few more hints to Potter, but decided against it, the boy had enough information to work this one out. He kept tight hold of the map though. Information like that was far too dangerous to be left floating around the castle, and with the fragile shape his nerves were in he felt he needed all the help he could get.

It came therefore, as something of a shock when he idly checked the map the night before the trial and discovered that Potter was still in the library. How much homework did the boy have? Surely he should be resting, saving his strength for the task ahead?

The cold winds of paranoia swept through his mind. He'd worked it out hadn't he?

Snape. Snape would know if anyone had stolen the Gillyweed from his stores. Barty raced down to the staffroom, heart pounding. He was desperate now, if Potter couldn't perform the task he'd be at a huge disadvantage in the maze. Even worse, he might attempt something brave or stupid, a half-botched bubble head charm for example, which could leave him seriously ill or even dead.

It was a mark of how desperate things were that he was even considering talking to Snape.

The staffroom was empty apart from Professor Flitwick. Barty was on the verge of collapse when suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a slight movement behind the tea-urn. He looked away, spinning Moody's magical eye into the back of his head. Years of looking out for Winky had taught him to recognise the signs. There was a house elf behind the tea-urn, industriously polishing it. A house elf…with clothes?

There was no mistaking it. The creature was wearing at least seven pairs of socks.

Hadn't Potter mentioned an elf who wore clothes? Back at that ridiculous Ball? Well if the elf was a friend of Potter's, perhaps he could work this to his advantage, house elves were notoriously loyal after all.

Honourable people. They were far to predictable.

'Morning, Flitwick.'

FLitwick looked up from his newspaper and nodded cheerfully.

'Must say I'm rather looking forward to tomorrow's task.' Barty grunted, raising his voice a little louder than necessary.

'Hmm it'll certainly be interesting. Rather difficult though. Especially for Potter, we just haven't covered the charms work necessary for any of the more advanced spells…'

He let the old coot blather on for a bit, one eye fixed on the elf, which had stopped its polishing and was now peaking out from behind the tea-urn with wide worried eyes.

'Could be quite difficult for him.' He put in when Flitwick's list of all the advanced spells that could be utilised to help one breath under water was exhausted.

Flitwick shook his head 'The poor boy's been at a disadvantage from the beginning. We can only hope that he'll manage to survive the year.'

It took a lot of effort not to start giggling. He couldn't help it. The expression on the elf's face wasn't helping either, it looked as if it would burst into tears at any moment. 'I wonder if he'll think to use Gillyweed?'

Flitwick frowned at that. 'That would work I suppose, but it's hard to see where he could find it. There might be a suppliers in Hogsmeade.'

'Snape stocks it of course…' Barty muttered, 'Mind you, I don't suppose he'd find it easy to steal from Snape.'

They talked for a little longer, while deep inside Barty sniggered as the elf ran off, leaving its work unfinished. Loyalty was a fine thing.

_Task four: Clearing the way._

The fourth task shouldn't be too bad. At least the boy seemed to have got his act together for this one. Barty kept his eye on the map, and when Potter wasn't in lessons or the library he spent most of him time in deserted classrooms with Granger and Weasley. Well, they were _probably_ practising defensive spells…

Barty giggled.He seemed to be doing that far to much lately. He'd been in a state of nervous tension since he'd come to Hogwarts, worried about the boy, about the plan, about the Polyjuice. At least he didn't have to worry about the Polyjuice anymore. In three hours time his Master would return.

He bit back another nervous laugh. What on earth was the matter with him? It was Snape, he knew. Snape suspected something, and had done since that night on the staircase. Did Dumbledore? Any of the other teachers? Would Dumbledore have some grandiose last-minute plan to thwart his efforts? And what were they saying in the Ministry about his father's death?

That had been a spell he'd enjoyed performing. It had brought back all the old memories, of him and Bellatrix, of raids, of the good days. Avada-Kedavra, short and sweet, without even a Crucio first (although he'd been sorely tempted and if it wasn't for the fact that he had to act quickly he'd have had the old man writhing in agony, screaming his guts out.)

He'd taken Krum down too, and that had been just as satisfying. He'd been in half a mind to obliviate him as well, and knock any preparation he'd made for the third task out of his head. Lack of time again, he'd barely managed to get his father buried.

So close. He couldn't believe how close he was. Mere hours away. He pulled his cloak on and headed down to the Quidditch pitch. It was time for his fourth and final task. Tonight, the Dark Lord would return.

The fake goblet was with him, hidden beneath his cloak. As the champions appeared, he slipped into the maze, excuses ready if anyone saw him (just giving it a final check, you never know, might have been enchanted in some evil plot to spirit away Potter and use his blood to return the Dark Lord to power…)

That was what he'd loved most about it. That he'd told them, all the way along he'd told them exactly what he was doing. And at every point his words had been dismissed as the ramblings of a paranoid old fool. It was ironic in a way, and it had been so much fun.

The creatures in the maze didn't bother him. Those with any sentience knew he was not one of the competitors, and he kept well away from the remaining Skrewt.

What he wouldn't miss was Snape. He was worried about Snape even more than Dumbledore. Snape with his cold glittering black eyes (did he know Occlumency?) Snape with his horrible habit of saying just the things you didn't want to hear, and his air of continual superiority, with the deep undertones of suppressed rage. Oh yes, rage. Because he'd seen Snape loose it before and when he did, he lost it bad.

He looked up and saw the Sphinx, staring lazily down at him. She flicked her tail, smiled eerily and produced the riddle.

And then he had to laugh. Because although he'd known the answer beforehand the full significance of it had never hit him before. He managed to control himself just long enough to gasp out 'Spider' then scuttled past her into the centre of the maze, his mind whirling with half-confused thoughts and images.

Three spiders, lets see if we can't have all of them tonight. Did you learn your lesson children? Did you listen in class when you thought it was Moody? You never knew Moody at all. I'll tell you now, he would've made an awful teacher. He's old, with old ideas, he's set in his ways. Moody's a bit like Bellatrix really, they hit their peak during the first war and never really moved on, they're living in a world which doesn't exist any more. And they're not the only ones. Moody would never have cursed an entire class of fourth years, not without teaching you more of the theory first.

What's the first spider tonight? It'll have to be the killing curse, because there's the whistle and Potter's just entered the maze, and he'll have a hard time getting to the centre if I don't kill of some of the nastys he'll have to face along the way. If I get this right the Dark Lord will be back in a few hours. Merlin that's a scary thought. Thrilling, but scary. like a muggle-raid gone wonderfully well.

Then we'll have imperio and see if we can't take out two birds with one stone. I'm taking no chances with this one, the fewer competitors Potter has the better. Krum was easy enough to stun the first time, I'll go for him. He'll be tapdancing to my tune. If I'm lucky he'll manage to take out Delacour and Diggory, that'll leave Potter with a clear run...

He strode through the maze, heart pounding, mind racing. He'd have to trust Potter's sense of direction for this (he'd left the book with the point-me spell open on Granger's desk one lesson, so the boy should at least have some idea of where he was going). Come closer, little fly. Closer to the centre of the web.

He was busy searching for Diggory when it happened. Krum and Delacour had gone down ages ago and he was just starting to panic when he heard screams coming from outside the maze. He slashed away at the branches in front of him with his wand (and none of the honourable competitors had thought to do _that_!) it seemed to take ages for him to get out, but in reality it was only a few minutes before he was beside the boy, grabbing his arm, secretly exulting at Cedric's prone form and asking 'Did he come back? Did the Dark :ord return?'

Potter wasn't dead. That wasn't right. What had gone wrong? He pulled the boy aside and dragged him back up to the castle 'Did he return?'

'Yes.' The boys voice was weak, but it didn't matter. Barty continued his questioning, but inside his heart was rejoicing.

Because the Dark Lord had returned and Barty's task was done!

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Why does my computer insist on automatically changing polyjuice into polygenic every…single…time.

Whew I'm glad that's over with. I seem to have spent the last week Googling, wikipedia-ing and hplexicon-ing in a desperate attempt to get all my facts right (I am at uni and my GoF book is at home). This was meant to be a deep, meaningful and atmospheric group of vignettes, written with flair and originality. However it probably comes across as a confusing pile of characters, situations and tenses. I'm going off it the more I read it actually.

So…(you know what's coming) please review! Even if its only one word (e.g. crap). That way I know what works and what doesn't.

And if I see one more summary of GoF containing the phrase 'the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher is Professor Moody' I will scream. Moody was never, ever a teacher! We actually see Moody very little in the books. This is starting to bug me. I should get out more.


	6. Endgame

Disclaimer: The characters and situations are the property of J.K Rowling and no copyright infringement is intended. 

Notes: Finito! I have a feeling I should feel sadder, but I'm quite pleased it's over, even though I massively enjoyed writing this. The epilogue is not brilliant, but I was rapidly fading away from 'Junior' and thought I'd better finish it off properly before I forgot about it completely. This is the first long(ish) chaptered story I've ever completed so I'm quite proud of it.

Endgame

Veritaserum was different from the Imperius curse. Imperius was like floating in a hazy otherworld, obeying the instructions without thought or feeling. Veritaserum was like having a part of your brain shut off, trapped and helpless, watching your mouth spilling out secrets you'd promised to keep hidden.

Snape. Snape had provided the potion, Snape who was supposed to be a Death Eater. Barty Crouch wondered if he was the first Death Eater to be betrayed by Snape. He had a feeling he would not be the last.

Or had he been betrayed? His job was complete, the Dark Lord would return whether Barty was by his side or not. And when Dumbledore swept out of the room, and when he'd finally recovered enough from the shock of the potion, he had looked up into those glittering black eyes and hissed 'Dammit Snape, whose side are you on?'

And he'd thought he'd seen a flicker in those deep hidden eyes, before the door had been flung open, and Fudge had blustered in and the Dementor had rushed over to claim its prey.

And that was even worse than Imperio had been. Worse than the Veritaserum. His soul was ripped from his body and there was nothing left but an empty husk.

Barty Crouch was gone, but the legacy of the task he had completed would send echoes throughout the wizarding world.

Because Voldemort had returned and the war had begun!  
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Meh. Awful ending. Awful exclamation point. But I'm so tired, and I had to get it finished somehow. Please forgive me. Also forgive Snape for stealing Barty's thunder right at the end, he does that a lot I think. :p

That's it, there is no more. But I'll probably write Barty again at some time in the future, I think I've really got a good hold on his character now.

Congrats to all who made it to the end. Hope you liked it!


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